Written in Blood (26 page)

He’d become increasingly remote over the last few weeks, disappearing for days at a time. It wasn’t wilful, this cutting her out of his life, it was simply how he was. Immersing himself in work was his coping strategy. And she’d known for a long time that he didn’t take easily to change. But she was beginning to wonder if they had a strong enough foundation on which to build a future. They’d reached a watershed. Soon she would have to decide if she wanted to always be here when he chose to come back, or if she should go her own way.

 

 

Saturday morning was crisp and clear and once more Anna woke to an empty bed. Putting on her robe she went downstairs to the lounge. Tom was talking on the phone, leaving what was obviously an answer-machine message. ‘Hi, Maggie, it’s Tom Mariner. Just a couple more things I wanted to ask. If you could call me back that would be great.’ He left his mobile number and hung up.

‘Who’s Maggie?’

He seemed unable to meet her eye. ‘She’s helping on a case.’

‘The drug addict?’

‘Yes.’

‘It’s a Saturday,’ Anna pointed out, knowing that she was being provocative.

‘She’s a therapist, works all hours.’ Although calm, he hadn’t liked the challenge and she knew what was coming next. ‘I feel as if I need to stretch my legs today. Is that okay?’

What came out of Anna’s mouth was, ‘Sure,’ though a swell of disappointment coursed through her. Here we go again. Well, two could play at that game. ‘Actually, I’ve got plans too,’ she added, coming to a quick decision. ‘I think I’ll take Jamie over to see Becky and Mark, as he’s with us at the moment.’

‘Is that wise, Jamie and a baby in the same house?’

She’d surprised him. Good.

‘It’ll be good for him. And it’s a big house. The properties out there are much bigger for the money.’ A point well made Anna felt, but she said it with an artful smile to show that she was winding him up. ‘It’ll only be overnight and Becky and Mark already know Jamie. They’d like Megan to get to know him too.’ She was working hard to justify her actions. ‘And Becky’s been great support, she’s a good listener.’

‘And I’m not?’ He recoiled slightly as if she’d physically slapped him.

‘You’ve been through it too,’ she added, regretting the inference. ‘Becky’s in a position to be more detached.’

She’d only come back a couple of days before and it would have been reasonable for Mariner to object, but he didn’t, and the main thing Anna saw in his face was relief. So that’s the way it was.

‘Okay then,’ he said.

‘Okay.’

 

It had been a strange conversation, Mariner thought, setting off on his journey to Wythinford. He’d left Anna packing again, for her and Jamie this time. He couldn’t work out why she’d made what was obviously a spur of the moment decision, but by the time he was parking up he’d pushed it to the back of his mind.

Even in chilly January a smattering of tourists were milling the pavements of the Cotswold town, perusing the craft and antique shops, the occasional snatch of an American accent heard. It was still early and there was only one other customer in the Lygon Arms, the kind of guy who’d always be the first in at opening time because he had nowhere else to be. With the absence of anyone serving behind the bar either, Mariner’s heart sank.

‘Lovely day for it,’ said the man, predictably opening the conversation, observing Mariner’s walking gear.

‘Yes,’ Mariner nodded politely, by which time the barman had thankfully appeared to take his order, but there was a further wait while the beer was drawn.

‘Which way are you headed?’ the conversationalist persisted.

‘I haven’t yet decided,’ Mariner lied. ‘Probably west.’ He was being deliberately vague.

‘Ah. You’re not local, are you?’

‘No.’

‘Well, may I recommend that if you’re out that way—’

‘I’m fine, really, thanks,’ said Mariner as the barman produced his pint of Old Hooky. With some relief Mariner handed over the right money and could retreat to a corner table to study his map uninterrupted. He’d already noted that there was a public footpath from the village into the next town that went close to Eleanor’s house, skirting the side of her property.

It was a beautiful day. Frosty grass crunched under Mariner’s boots and low sunlight pierced the hedge branches, casting a giant bar-code shadow onto the footpath. It was the middle of the afternoon as he approached The Manse which was bathed in a buttery sunshine. The track brought him directly to the side of the garden where the fence gave way to a stile. Entering this way he could avoid the journalists, but as he got nearer he saw that they had gone anyway.

He climbed over the stile and walked across the front of the house to the main door. Except for the birdsong it was completely silent. Eleanor seemed pleased to see him, giving him a bony hug, and Nelson welcomed him like a long lost friend. Being greeted by a family member was a warm experience and a rare one that Mariner had long forgotten. He and his mother hadn’t been on those terms for years.

‘You’ve lost your vultures then,’ Mariner remarked, taking off his boots in the porch before going into the house.

‘The reporters?’ Eleanor shook her head. ‘Oh they’ll be back. I think they go to the pub for lunch. The landlord at the Lygon must be doing a roaring trade.’

‘Not when I was in there,’ Mariner said.

There was no Janet at the weekends, but Eleanor made him tea, waving away his offer to help, and they sat overlooking the terrace at the back of the garden where a large bird table offered refreshment for all kinds of species.

‘I love to watch the birds,’ she said. ‘Except for those wretched magpies that get everywhere, stealing and bullying their way in.’

Speaking of which. ‘Do you remember a girl Sir Geoffrey was once engaged to, Carrie Foster-Young?’

Eleanor smiled. ‘Oh yes. She was the one who broke Geoffrey’s heart. She was a very sweet girl but . . .’ She paused, searching for the right word. ‘Flighty,’ she said, at last. ‘Yes; flighty, and very energetic.’ She arched an eyebrow. ‘Had her own room when she stayed here, but we couldn’t very well prevent Geoffrey from going to her during the night. She and Geoffrey were what these days you’d call “an item” for nearly two years. I think he might have even married her, but she didn’t believe in it, so she said. She was American you know, more for living together. It was all the rage then.’

‘So what happened?’

‘They had a big falling-out. I never really knew what it was about. It happened quite suddenly and there seemed no question of reconciliation. Geoffrey was seriously considering going into politics at that point so thank God for Diana. She was far more suitable to be an MP’s wife and came along just at the right time. She and Geoffrey had so much in common. They were made for each other. I have to admit that Charles and I were somewhat relieved.’ Her eyes clouded over. ‘Poor, poor Diana.’

‘She didn’t suffer,’ Mariner said, thinking back to what he knew of the crime. ‘Death would have been instantaneous for both of them. She probably knew nothing about it.’ Although those last few seconds would have been the longest and most terrifying of her life. ‘Do you know what happened to Carrie?’

‘It was rather sad. Geoffrey told me once, some years later, that he’d bumped into her and she was a drug addict. In some ways I wasn’t really very surprised. There was always an unusual smell in the house after she’d been, though at the time I hadn’t a clue what it was.’

‘Did Carrie ever have any children?’

‘I’ve no idea.’ Eleanor shook her head. ‘After they went their separate ways Geoffrey only mentioned her on that one occasion and if what he said was true, then I rather hope that she didn’t. It’s no life to bring a child into.’

‘Is there anyone who would know for sure?’

‘I suppose Norman might know.’

Of course, Norman Balfour, the university chum who went on to be Ryland’s best man.

‘He’s a lovely boy, full of mischief.’

Mariner smiled. Probably not such a boy now.

‘Have you any idea where I might find Norman?’

But she didn’t. Hadn’t seen him for years, either. But Mariner was hopeful. Maggie hadn’t come back to him yet. She may not know anything much about Carrie Foster-Young, but she’d heard from Norman Balfour only a year or two back so would probably know his wherabouts. And hadn’t she said he was a Catholic priest? There couldn’t be many of those with the same name.

‘You’ll stay for dinner?’ Eleanor said. ‘It’s only cold cuts that Janet’s left me but there’s enough for two of us.’

‘I ought to be getting back. I’ve left my car in the village and walked here. I should go before it gets dark.’

It was only half past three but already the light was fading as Mariner set off across the fields. There was still no activity at the gate though he thought he could see at least one vehicle parked in the shadows. Christ, what an excruciatingly boring job. Those reporters had to be dedicated.

Mariner spent most of the next day surfing the Net, trying to establish what had become of Carrie Foster-Young. He got plenty of hits on genealogy sites, Foster-Youngs from all over the world trying to trace lost relatives, but none of them the one he wanted. Mid-evening, Maggie phoned him back. ‘How can I help?’

‘I’ve been wondering about some of the people my father knew, particularly Carrie Foster-Young.’

‘I don’t know much I’m afraid, only what I’ve already told you.’

‘Do you know if she had a child?’

‘She didn’t when I knew her, but the way she put it about, I wouldn’t be surprised. When she and Geoff split up she disappeared pretty quickly off the scene, and it was years ago, anything could have happened since then.’

‘You said you’d heard from Norman Balfour. Do you know where he is?’

‘Yes, he’s the diocesan priest at St Dunstan’s Church in north London. Why do you want to speak to him?’

‘Everybody tells me he was one of my father’s closest friends.’

But Maggie wasn’t easily fooled. ‘This still personal?’ ‘Pretty much. It may be nothing at all.’

‘And how are you doing?’

‘I’m fine.’

‘You and Anna have talked?’

‘We’ve started to.’ Loosely speaking it was the truth.

‘Well, keep doing it.’

‘We will.’ But talking wasn’t what he had in mind.

 

Anna returned with Jamie later that evening, but her embrace was stiff and unyielding. Jamie, worn out by the travelling, crashed out in record time and she came down from the shower a little after that, while Mariner was watching a film on TV. Standing in the doorway she looked tiny and vulnerable in the way that she had when they first met, and Mariner felt a rush of love for her that made his eyes water. He must try harder. When she came and sat beside him, taking his hand in hers and smelling of soap and shampoo, he flicked off the sound on the TV and slid an arm round her drawing her close to him, a tiny fragile bird. ‘Good time?’ he asked.

‘Great. Jamie did really well.’ She stopped, uncertain whether to go on. ‘There’s a residential place not far from where Becky and Mark live. We passed it a couple of times when I was there before. This time we went and had a look round. It’s a self-sufficient community. I think it would be really good for Jamie.’

Wow. So that’s why Jamie went too.

‘I didn’t tell you before in case it came to nothing.’ Which must mean that it had come to something.

‘They have places there for him?’ Mariner asked.

‘They will have, soon, though we’ll have to act quickly to get him in. It’s expensive but I think we could do it.’

‘It’s a long way.’

‘Doesn’t have to be. Not if we moved out there too.’

‘That’s a bit drastic.’

‘Jamie being evicted from the community home was drastic. I’ve got to think of him. And why not move? We’ve talked about it anyway.’

‘
You’ve
talked about it.’ Mariner corrected her.

‘I don’t get it.’ She pulled back to look at him. ‘I thought you’d want it too. Every chance you get at the moment, you go off walking somewhere.’

‘I love the countryside. It’s the people who live there.’ Like locals who pester you while you’re waiting for your pint.

‘Not that you’re generalising or anything. If you said that about Sparkhill you’d be called a racist.’

‘Village life is too claustrophobic. Everyone would know our business.’

‘How do you know that? You’ve never experienced it.’

‘I’m just guessing.’

‘It doesn’t have to be the middle of nowhere. There are small towns. It should be easy enough for me to get the kind of admin post I’m doing now, and surely you could transfer. I thought it was fairly easy for you to do, if you want to, that is. And it would be a much better place to bring up children.’

Mariner felt as if he was being given an ultimatum.